


Place a Name

by fizzyblogic (phizzle)



Category: All-American Rejects
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-06
Updated: 2007-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:38:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For imjustlikeme.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Place a Name

**Author's Note:**

> For imjustlikeme.

Mike sat on the stage, guitar on his lap, watching Tyson sing into the microphone. "Is that good?" he heard him ask, checking the sound.

Mike played a few chords, hummed the tune. "You name the time, you know I'll be there," he sang under his breath, watching his fingers. "I'll go anywhere so I'll see you there."

He heard Nick, a few feet away, take up the notes. "I don't care if you don't mind," he joined in, smiling over at Mike, "I'll be there not far behind."

Tyson turned around and said, "Trying to check the sound here, boys," over their next line.

"Keep in mind, I'll be there for you," they sang at him in unison, playing the notes and grinning.

Tyson flipped them off and puckered his lips at Nick, who just laughed and put his guitar down. Mike picked another note or two while Tyson sang, then stood up to take his turn checking the equipment.

"Where's Chris?" Nick asked, stretching as he glanced around.

"I don't know, he should be around somewhere," Tyson said as Mike plugged his guitar in and started playing. Tyson slipped an arm around Nick's waist. "Wanna go look for him?"

"Sure. We'll be back," Nick called over to Mike, who gave them the thumbs up and played a few riffs.

Five minutes later, as he was adjusting the volume knob on an amp, he heard a slam behind him and turned to see Chris sitting at the drum kit. He was scowling at it, examining his sticks, and Mike shot a glance over to where Nick was standing at the side of the stage. Mike raised his eyebrows, and Nick shrugged.

Mike finished checking the sound for his guitars and went to sit with Nick while Chris started up on the drums. Tyson came over, carrying a large bucket of chicken wings, and offered them around.

"Where was he?" Mike asked as he chewed.

"In his bunk," Nick replied, swallowing a mouthful.

"Yeah, and when we told him he was late, he just yelled _FUCK_ and ran here." Tyson shrugged. "Don't know what's got into him today, but he is in a bad fucking mood."

"Yeah, like a grizzly bear with a headache," Nick nodded. Tyson laughed.

"Think he's still hungover?" Mike asked, watching him bash the shit out of his cymbals.

Tyson shrugged. "Probably."

Mike just nodded absently, still watching. "We got some free time," Nick said, leaning up against Tyson. "Want to go watch something, or –"

Tyson craned his neck around the venue. "Where's John? Why don't we grab some of the guys, see what's in this town? I hear there's this kickass science museum that's like, the local big noise or whatever."

Nick snorted. "You want to go to a science museum?"

"Yeah, why not?"

Mike glanced at him. "You just want to do that thing with the big electricity balls, where you put your hand on it and the lightning goes to it and shit, right?"

Tyson grinned. "Of course."

"Okay," Nick laughed, "could kill an afternoon." He stood up, brushing his knees off. "Mike, you coming?"

"I might stay here, watch a couple DVDs with Chris or something. He probably won't want to like, _do_ anything."

Tyson patted him on the shoulder. "You tell Grumpybear we'll see him later, okay? Kiss it better."

"I will," Mike grinned as they left. He watched Chris finish up sound check, and took the rest of the chicken wings over. "Want some?"

Chris shrugged with half a shoulder. "Not hungry."

"That bad, huh?" Mike petted his back sympathetically, but Chris jerked away. "Jesus, what crawled up _your_ ass and died?"

Chris rubbed his forehead. "I'm _tired_, okay? And no, it's not a fucking hangover, I drank an assload of water last night, I feel fine. Just. Fucking tired, alright?"

"So nap, you jerk." Mike nudged him.

"I _would_, if I could get to fucking _sleep_," he sighed. "What do you think I've been trying to fucking do? But no matter how fucking tired I am, I just _can't fucking get to sleep_." He slumped, and Mike leaned closer.

"I could help with that. Want me to help with that?"

Chris sighed. "Yes. Please. Thanks."

Mike stood, taking his hand and leading him back to the bus. He pushed Chris into his bunk and crawled in on top of him.

"Look, I already _tried_ this –" Chris started, irritated, making as if to roll them both out of the bunk again, but Mike wedged his arm in the way.

"Just shut the fuck up, Gaylor," he said, though he was smiling. "I'm trying to help, so fucking lie back and let me."

Chris huffed out a breath. "Fine. What's the plan, count sheep?"

"Not exactly. How much lube you got?"

Chris blinked. "Oh. Okay. Um, enough?" He hunted around with one hand, not taking his eyes off Mike's, until he pulled out a thin tube. He weighted it in his hand. "Yeah, enough. We're gonna need more soon."

"Nick just bought a whole ton, I'll ask him for some," Mike said, taking the tube and squeezing some onto his fingers. "You're gonna need to get naked, Chris," he added.

"Oh – right." He started removing his clothes, which was difficult what with Mike being sprawled on top of him and the bunk being a little small for this. "I guess I don't have a say in this, right?"

"You can always say no," Mike shrugged, helping him off with his shirt. Chris snorted.

"What – no, I don't want to get fucked by my hot boyfriend in the middle of the day? Yeah _right_," he rolled his eyes. Mike grinned.

"You know what I mean," he said, working Chris's underwear down and petting his cock fondly. It was half hard, and twitched in response. Mike leaned down and nuzzled at it, flicking his tongue out to lick a little. He trailed kisses from base to tip, Chris squirming at the contact, until it was fully hard.

"Shit, I feel better already," Chris sighed as Mike closed his mouth over the top half of it and gave a gentle suck. "Mmmnm, Mike." He smiled and sat up, Chris whimpering a little at the loss of contact, trailing fingertips over Chris's cheek, other hand slick with lube and working back past his balls and in. Chris arched, and reached for Mike's belt. "You're wearing too much," he muttered, eyes dark.

"Yeah, help me out with that," Mike murmured, fingers working. Chris yanked his pants down and his shirt up and pulled him closer by the hips. Mike handed him the lube, adding a third finger and pushing in; Chris groaned, but after a few moments he reached up and slathered Mike's cock with lube. Mike's eyelids fluttered shut at the contact. "You good?" he asked, at last. Chris nodded. "Okay." Mike removed his fingers and positioned their hips.

Chris tilted up a little as Mike eased in, and it felt fucking _good_, so Mike moaned and slid in until he was buried to the balls. Chris settled and shifted until he was biting his lip and squirming as Mike thrust in and out, gathering pace as he went. "Fuck," Chris grunted, grasping handfuls of Mike's shirt and holding on. "Fuck, just, a little to the – fuck, yeah, right _there_," and he threw his head back. Mike tried to collect himself enough to send a message from his brain to his mouth, _Kiss his neck, just lean in and lick_, but somehow it didn't quite make it and he just whimpered instead. Chris shifted his thigh, hooking one knee over Mike's waist so he was pushing in deeper, and Mike almost fucking lost it right there. He buried his face in Chris's neck, licking and kissing and sucking and biting at the skin, thrusting in harder and harder at _just the right angle_, until Chris grabbed the hair at the back of his head and growled out, "Fuck, Mike, you fucking amazing fucking oh fuck _fucking yeah_," and came. Mike hadn't even touched his cock.

Mike thrust in four more times before he shuddered and groaned, "Fuck, _Chris_," and came, seeing stars. He settled, piece by piece, onto Chris's chest, and kissed his cheek.

"Fuck, I kind of love you," Chris murmured, sounding sleepy.

Mike nuzzled the skin under his nose. "I kind of love you too, ass," he smiled, relaxing every muscle in his body one by one. "Mmm, we should do this more often."

There was no answer.

"Chris?" Mike shifted so he could see Chris's face; his eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. Mike allowed himself a very small victorious fist pump, and then just curled up and closed his own eyes.

Nick and Tyson burst back onto the bus a few hours later, just as Mike and Chris were making sandwiches. "Dude, there was this _totally awesome_ thing at the museum," Tyson started, "you should have been there! And there was this lightning thing, right, and Nick's hair all stood on end. It's awesome, we got pictures."

"Sounds like a good time," Chris beamed at him. "Hey, you want a sandwich? We were just making some."

"Uh, yeah, sure," Tyson blinked. Mike moved over to make room for Nick in the kitchenette, and Tyson pulled him away towards the bunks and hissed, "Okay, what did you _do_?"

Mike shrugged. "Just fucked him in the ass. He couldn't sleep, I figured it might work. It did."

"Oh." Tyson thought about that for a minute. "I am totally going to tell Nick I have trouble sleeping, okay?"

"Ty, you don't have _any_ trouble sleeping," Mike reminded him.

"Yeah, but don't tell Nick that," Tyson winked, sidling away to the kitchenette, where he slid his arms around Nick's waist from behind and kissed his neck. Mike shook his head and went to reclaim his sandwich before anyone else got their hands on it.


End file.
